Under The Floorboards
by hawkeyesbutt
Summary: 'Sherlock breathed heavily, closing his eyes. "No, no," he murmured, "Feelings. Sentiment. Not good." John pushed gently on Sherlock's chest. "Sherlock, it's just the drugs talking."' Rated M for drug use. Johnlock oneshot.


As he pressed the syringe into his flesh, he didn't regret it one bit. He sat contently, relaxed on the sofa as he felt the drug seeping into his blood, turning him ecstatic. John was out of course - you wouldn't find Sherlock taking drugs if John was at home - he had gone to visit his sister for a couple of days, which left Sherlock incredibly bored and without cigarettes. What else could he turn to? Oh yes, that hidden away stash under the floor boards in his bedroom. Sherlock breathed in slowly and heavily, breathing out with the same proximity. His eyes rolled back in pleasure and when he reopened them properly, everything was different. This wasn't 221B Baker Street, this was a room with objects in. This was a new adventure. One thing Sherlock disliked about drugs was that they made his senses go slightly off - especially his hearing, though he generally liked the fuzziness of people's voices when he was high. A smile broke out onto Sherlock's face as he stood up, almost dancing around the room, inspecting things an looking at them from a completely different angle. Drugs helped him to see things differently. Especially people, another disadvantage of drugs. They intensified 'feelings'. Sherlock didn't like that. Thankfully, John had never been with him while he was high so he had never been aware of how he might feel about John. Sherlock suddenly felt something on his shoulder and turned around to see John there, his face was scrunched up in concern, his mouth was moving but all Sherlock could hear was a low hum of his voice. Sherlock sighed in content, then grinned at John, trying to walking back to his chair and falling about slightly. He felt John's hands on him again, guiding him. "Johnn-" Sherlock's voice was slurred and dreamlike.  
"Oh Christ." John looked at the syringe that Sherlock had carelessly thrown to the floor, inspecting it. "I hope you only took one of these."  
"Why- why are you back? Where's Harry?"  
"She's started drinking again, so I came back as I was fed up with her. Jesus, you're just as bad as each other."  
"John-"  
"Yes, Sherlock?" John sighed. He'd never seen Sherlock high before, and although it was slightly amusing, it was also quite terrifying to see the uncertain smile across his face, the small pupils making his blue eyes stand out more.  
"Johnnn-"  
"I'm here, Sherlock." John helped Sherlock into his chair, Sherlock's big blue eyes gazing up in wonder at his.  
Sherlock gave him an odd smile. He glanced from John's eyes to his lips, and tried to stand up again. John stepped forward, grabbing Sherlock's forearm, trying to support him. Sherlock pushed him backwards into the wall, John completely alarmed.  
"Sherlock?!" Panic washed over him, a glimpse of doubt passing over his mind. Was Sherlock safe under drugs? John started to worry that Sherlock would even hit him. Suddenly, the doubt was thrown out the window as John found out the real reason for being thrown against a wall. Sherlock pressed up fully against John's body, their faces closer than ever before, Sherlock's wild eyes and his shaking hands. John prepared himself to defend any attacks given by Sherlock, but Sherlock caught him completely off-guard. Sherlock pressed his lips in a sloppy manor against John's - a strange decision of Sherlock's, though John reckoned it was because of the drugs - and John pulled his lips away, letting Sherlock lean his head against John's. Sherlock breathed heavily, closing his eyes. "No, no," he murmured, "Feelings. Sentiment. Not good." John pushed gently on Sherlock's chest.  
"Sherlock, it's just the drugs talking." John said softly, reassuringly. It hurt him to know that, in all honestly. The moment he had met Sherlock, he had become infatuated with him. He couldn't help it; the man was just so interesting. He wondered why Sherlock hadn't realised John's feelings yet; maybe it was because Sherlock was foreign to feelings and relationships, or maybe he had noticed them and just chose to ignore them. Either way, John was stuck in his spiralling love interest named Sherlock Holmes.  
"No, no, John," Sherlock muttered again, "I'm talking. I tried to ignore it but-" Sherlock breathed in deeply. "I think I am in love with you." John's heart fluttered, yet he still refused to believe it. Sherlock was high, he could be speaking any old crap, how would John know if it was true or not? Sherlock leaned forward again, slower this time. The kiss wasn't so sloppy this time; Sherlock really tried to make it pleasant, but his senses had been affected by the drugs so he couldn't quite tell how hard or soft he was pressing. The kiss was extremely soft, John only just realising Sherlock was kissing him. Unable to help himself, John kissed back, almost accidentally, before pulling back again. Sherlock opened his eyes, swimming in confusion. Anxiety filled Sherlock's stomach as he considered the possibility that he'd done something wrong; he pulled away immediately, his eyes darting around. Suddenly he was struggling to breathe. Noticing a panic attack was about to happen, John tried to soothe Sherlock.  
"Calm down, Sherlock, I'm here-"  
"What? John, I don't- I don't-"  
"You took drugs, Sherlock and now-"  
"No, no, I know that, what did I do wrong? Why did you push me away? What's- what's happening?"  
"Nothing, Sherlock. You didn't do anything wrong. I wasn't sure if the kiss was your own feelings or the drug so I pushed away even though I was enjoying it."  
Sherlock struggled to calm down. "Okay, okay, right- right then, that makes sense, I suppose, in theory-" Sherlock continued to ramble, ringing his hands, running out of air. John pulled him over to the sofa, sitting him down. John knelt down in front of his flatmate, taking Sherlock's shaking hands in his.  
"Take a deep breath Sherlock," John said, looking deeply into Sherlock's eyes. "Deep breaths." Sherlock tried desperately, but his mind was racing; this don't normally happen when he took drugs. They made him feel strange, it made him feel great, not this, not anxious, or scared.  
"John!" Sherlock's breathing quickened even more, his hands pulling out of John's and up to his hair, pulling on it. John had never seen Sherlock like this; he'd never seen Sherlock so terrified, so unlike himself. Sherlock's eyes rolled back into his head and he fell limply onto the sofa, passing out. John checked all his vital signs; he was unconscious, but his breathing had returned to normal as he slept through the drug. John placed him in the recovery position, before turning to the syringe that had been discarded to the floor. He picked it up, inspecting it again. Heroin, most likely. John sighed, cleaning up the mess Sherlock had made while in his drugged state. John went to Sherlock's room, searching for the drugs he had obviously hidden in there. Fortunately for John, Sherlock had failed to put the floorboard back down properly, meaning the edge sticked out slightly. John pulled it up with ease, gasping in shock as he noticed the collection of drugs Sherlock had hidden away. There were many different drugs, labelled in bags, along with empty syringes. John was surprised to even see some weed was there; John would have thought Sherlock wouldn't even bother with weed, but apparently he does. He took his phone out of his pocket, dialling Mycroft's number.  
"Hello?"  
"It's John. Sherlock's been taking drugs again, and I've found his... Collection."  
"Where is he now?"  
"Passed out on the sofa after a panic attack."  
"Ah. I will be round shortly."  
John left the drugs in their secret place, afraid to even touch them. He walked back out to the living room, where he spotted Sherlock, still unconscious. John walked slowly towards him. He knelt down beside him, brushing Sherlock's curls out of his face. Gently, he kisses Sherlock's forehead, before standing up and waiting for Mycroft.


End file.
